


The Song Of Patroclus

by constellate



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, oh and nearly everyone lives, oh god achilles, patroclus eats a big mac, thats all you need to know really, why
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 18:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellate/pseuds/constellate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the age of iphones and generic boy bands and Patroclus, heir to a failing buisness, has befriended perfect Achilles - son of the man who owns Patroclus' foster home. Despite their glaring differences they share a bond, one that develops over time (despite Achilles' weird, overprotective mother being a giant homophobic tool about it).</p>
<p>this is the story of Patroclus and Achilles on their misadventures and sucky lives.</p>
<p>The song of Achilles modern AU, the entire book re-written</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sucky Beggining

**Author's Note:**

> A good song to listen too during the first chapter is Wetsuit, by the Vaccines. Sorry this chapter is kind of short, the next one will (probably) be longer... :)

My father is an extremely rich business man and the son of extremely rich business men. He’s kind of short, really – mostly shoulders. He married my mother when she was eighteen and I’m pretty sure he only chose her because his father (my Grandfather) wanted an heir. He didn’t find out until after the wedding that she was allergic to everything. And by everything, I mean everything; milk, eggs, bees, nuts, cotton, silk, sugar, plastic, wood, real silver, fake silver, most green plants, all red plants, dusty air, dirty air, clear air and 98 types of grain. When I was born my father didn’t want us to get too attached so he gave me straight to the midwife. My mother didn’t seem to notice, as she lay on the bed, exhausted after my complicated birth. She was allergic to all the different medicines they used and quite possibly allergic to me as well. 

I have always been small for my age but even more so then. You see, my dad wanted me to play sports…. But I kinda sucked. I remember this one time I was playing baseball, I bowled the ball and somehow managed to make it hit my own head. I don’t know how it happened either, but I got concussion. Then I threw up all over my baseball coach. It wasn’t really a great day for me.

I also have no musical talent, and am not very strong. I guess my only good point was that I never got sick. Other babies got colic, croup, conjunctivitis, chickenpox, whooping cough and meningitis – all of which I managed to miraculously avoid. So yeah, my childhood was pretty much me trying to ditch sports lessons, going out to buy milk-free milk for my mother and just generally getting yelled at by my dad for not being able to use calculus. 

I was ten when it was my father’s turn to hold the annual athletics competition that his business league insists on holding. He hired one hundred extra staff members to turn the grounds of the manor house we lived in into a proper sports ground. Of course, I sucked too much to actually take part in the games but there was this one kid my dad was pretty jealous of. When I saw him first I thought he was a girl – I mean, he had pretty long hair. But then he insisted on running topless, so I guess that sorted that out.

He was running the two hundred metres and the secret betting pool my dad was organising said he was set to win. Sure enough, he did. Pretty easily in fact.  
I was too engrossed in my big mac to notice when the gun went off, and by the time I looked up, all I saw were his feet crossing the finish line, thirty metres ahead of the nearest other contestant. My Dad turned to look at me, with an expression that I had seen many times before - one that screamed pure disappointment and seeped into my very being – or at least it would have if I hadn’t been staring at the winning contestants butt as he did the Macarena.

It was my job to give the winner of each race their trophy, and the moment he had it in his hand, his father bounded over and lifted him into the air. They spun around laughing and I had to look away. I recognised the man, Peleus something-or-other. He was one of my father’s business partners and, though he was slight and bland looking, he was popular with his workers and associates for being fair and just and not totally corrupt - the polar opposite of my father. That made the boy his son, Achilles, whose mother was rumoured to be one of the most powerful women in the country. Clearly, Achilles was well loved.

Other than that I don’t have many memories of my early childhood. Just random scenes of my parents and I. That time my dad got Outkast and Enya to have a private concert at my house; the head gardener teaching me about plants and shit; swimming aloe in our private pool; almost drowning in our private pool. A trip with my mother to the coast, spent skimming stones and eating ice cream. She sang to me in her wobbly, out of tune voice. The sea was one of the few things she wasn't allergic too. On her temple was a shiny white scar from when father hit her over the head with a glass milk bottle after we ran out of coconut milk. Her feet were buried in the sand and I remember being careful not to scratch them as I dug around for pebbles to skim. I am not sure this is even a real memory, Father didn't really let us go outside in case mother ran into something that most of the human race depended on for daily survival but she was somehow allergic too, or I broke something. So you know, just an average childhood.


	2. The Tamagotchi incident #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the second chapter. It's kind of a lot longer than the last one. Your welcome :)  
> Also, if you didn't have a tamagotchi as a child, go get one. right now. It's for your sake, not ours.

My father had called me to his study. Our manor house was hella huge, so it took me like an age to get there and because I’m not really into that whole exercise thing, I was slightly out of breath when I got there. I would have asked for a glass of water but my father was kind of mean about that. He liked to watch people suffer.

“I have asked you here to talk about a potential betrothal to Tyndareus daughter, Helen.” He said.

“Tyndareus? What sort of name is that?” I ask.

“What sort of name is Patroclus?”

“Touché.”

Regardless of how strange it is, I recognised the name from somewhere. He is a big businessman somewhere, one of the best. His trading tactics are renowned for their violent optimism. He is renowned for being a violent tool.

I’ve heard of his daughter, too. She was a teen model, only a year or two older than I was and stunningly beautiful – supposedly one of the sweetest people alive.

She was a quadruplet with totally crazy brothers and sisters, but she was the only pretty one. There was this big scandal about whether they were actually Tyndareus’ kids or if his wife Leda had cheated on him with some foreign bigshot. 

I didn’t really care about it, to be honest

My father cleared his throat awkwardly. “We could do well with the ties a marriage to that family would bring us. Her dowry certainly wouldn’t go unnoticed and you could do worse than one of the most beautiful women alive.”

I choked on my surprise, “Hold on one cotton-picking minute, you mean a betrothal to me? Dad, I’m only twelve! Would she really want to marry me?”

“I highly doubt it but we’re trying anyway,” my father was quick to reply.

 

We left a day later in the week, taking our private jet filled with expensive-looking-actually-quite-cheap gifts a lot of food in case we got hungry on the one and a half hour journey. I entertained myself by watching happy feet and eating that really nice biscotti spread with a spoon straight from the jar. My dad flashed me one of his disappointed looks. 

I held eye contact as I ate another spoonful.

There were bodyguards with us the whole time. I don’t remember much of the trip except that it was overland with a pretty dull view. Near the front of the plane my father sat, typing away on his tablet whilst also on the phone. I don’t know what he was saying, it all just sounded Greek to me.

I didn’t want to be here and I’m pretty sure they all knew it.

We weren’t the first to arrive – Helen clearly had a lot of suitors. Their private airstrip was filled constantly with aeroplanes. There was a huge garage filled with fancy cars – BMW’S, Ferari’s, I’m pretty sure there was a subsection just for limos.

My dad really hated the room we were placed in for some reason, a spare room in the west wing of their mansion.

“The central heating here is three degrees below the perfect room temperature! I will be having words about this” growled my dad.

“Why don’t you put on the jumper mum made you? You know, the cotton-free-cotton one she made you after she caught pneumonia after catching our dog’s cold?”

“Why don’t you go play with your doll, Patroclus?” 

“OH MY GOD DAD, It’s a Ken figurine, and it’s totally for guys too!”

I went and played with my Ken figurine.

I was sitting outside because my dad had important calls to make when a bodyguard strolled past. He slowed when he approached and then paused when he was in front of me. Looking from me to the ken figurine, he cringed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny, new, colourfully packaged toy that I instantly recognized as a Tamagotchi.

“Hey kid, this was meant to be a gift for my nephew, but I think you need it more,” and with that, he passed me the Tamagotchi and strolled away sighing about today’s youth.

I played with that Tamagotchi all day.

The next day my dad had me up at dawn. It turned out my dad had planned a spontaneous spa day.

“Why do we need a spa day? Isn’t a bath and a change of clothes enough?”

“Because, we need to fix….this.” he made a sweeping gesture from my head to my toes. 

“But you just gestured to all of me?”

“Yeaaah….” My dad shrugged.

We spent the day in and out of saunas, getting manicures and pedicures - and with them, concerned looks from a lot of adults - a great new haircut and the fish-eating-your-foot thing.

After the spontaneous spa day (which I actually really enjoyed) my dad spent two hours making me change between really expensive tuxedos. They were far too big for my skinny frame. Finally my dad decided on the black one with the crimson tie. I looked ridiculous.

Finally my dad shuffled me to outside the great hall where we were supposed to present ourselves and our suitor-y gift. My dad had given me this fancy wine bowl, covered in sketchy drawings of Greek Gods. I never really understood it, but hey, it looked pretty.

My dad shoved it in my hands and said “Don’t trip up.”

I heard the mess before I saw it, hundreds of people filled into a huge hall, all sipping on wine and wait staff wandering around and topping up peoples glasses. I clutched the Tamagotchi in my pocket for strength. I had never seen so many people in one room before. No, not people, really fancy upper class business people with billions in their bank accounts.

We were called forward and all the prospective suitors were made to sit on these really uncomfortable benches. The wait staff went back into the kitchen, as I fidgeted constantly in my seat. My dad shushed me as I wondered if I’d put my Tamagotchi on silent.

One by one we walked up to the centre of the room and addressed Helen and her dad, leaving the gifts in a pile by her seat. The room was silent for what felt like the first time in  
hours. Boy after boy walked up to Helen, all of them with the same slicked back hair and strong build. They also all had incredible jawlines. Looking back, I probably should have realised that I was more interested in the suitors themselves than actually being one.

There was a load of old people there and I panicked, thinking that they were suitors before realising that they were actually the fathers and grandfathers of the suitors. The oldest guy there was Philoctetes, who was the only living member of the original board of Heracles, a multi-billion worth company, named after its first CEO.

There was Idomeneus, a year older than I was and wearing eyeliner. He was leaner than I was and his hair was clearly dyed black because his eyebrows were forur shades lighter. He was wearing entirely black.

“Heh, emo trash,” I murmured as he walked past.

“Didn’t you listen to MCR on the plane over here?” my dad queried.

“Shut up, dad!”

Then it was Menalaus, sitting behind his huge brother Agamemnon. They were both in the year above me but were separated in age by nine months. Menalaus had shockingly copper-red hair but he kinda looked like he’d smash my skull in if I called him ginger.

He had plenty of muscles for a thirteen year old. He presented Helen with an amazingly dyed piece of cloth that made a shawl, and a wink.

“Not that you need to be made prettier,” he smiled. It was sweet, and made Helen blush.

I felt awkward. I didn’t want to be here, I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted it to be over with, as I tapped my fingers against the Tamagotchi in my pocket.

Person after person took their turn, and I stopped paying attention. Twenty or so more suitors had gone past and we were only half way through the line. Finally, after a long wait, it was my turn.

I stood, shaking, and lifted the bowl onto one arm. For the first time I was truly aware of how deafening the silence could really be. I took one step and then another towards the seats where Helen and her father sat. I felt the stares on my back, so I squared my shoulders and strode forwards with as much confidence as I could muster. For quite possibly the first time, I saw my father begin to smile slightly at my actions.

Then, just as I was a few feet away from the presentation spot, where I was meant to present my gift, disaster struck. My Tamagotchi went off.

The atmosphere in the room spiked, people began to murmur and my dad held his head in shame as I held one finger up awkwardly and said, “Excuse me, I just have to feed this quick….” I lay the bowl by the pile of other gifts, pulled my Tamagotchi out of my pocket, pressed a few buttons, and shoved it back.

“So, Helen. Hey,” I waved awkwardly, as all the suitors around me stared like I was crazy. To my (and quite possibly everyone else’s) shock, instead of telling me to get out or saying I was crazy, Helen just giggled behind her hand and said “I like you. You’re sweet.”

I think a couple of guys head’s exploded when she said that. I even think emo trash cried a few tears.

“Uh, thanks, I think?” I mumbled, and with that I began to walk back awkwardly to my seat, before remembering there was a list of things that suitors where supposed to say. Like, for example, our names.

I twirled back around, “Yeah, I’m Patroclus, I’m twelve, which sucks. It was nice meeting you?”

Helen giggled again, and I took this to be a good sign. I walked back to my seat (for good this time) and the line of suitors continued.

The next suitor was Ajax, son of Telamon, a fancy-schmancy big shot businessman. He kind of looked like an ogre to me, but I didn’t say that. I didn’t have a death wish. He was huge, and really muscly. I had trouble believing he was only fifteen. He brought a signed baseball glove from some famous baseball player. I didn’t know his name. Helen looked about as unimpressed as I did, but her dad looked like he was wetting himself with joy.

Finally, everyone had had their turn. Tyndareus turned to a man with a jagged scar running along his leg visable from the strangely informal beach shorts he was wearing. He had been commenting to Tyndareus about all the suitors as they went along. “Well, Odysseus? What do you, as an impartial observer, think?” he sounded vaguely sarcastic.

“I honestly don’t know what you expected.” The scarred man said, “But more importantly, how do you expect the losers not to start a stock-market war with you? Or with Helen’s new husband?”

“You seem amused.” 

“I find the folly of men amusing.”

There were whispers throughout the room as people expressed their agreement with the man I guess was Odysseus. Finally, Ajax stood and said, “Look, I’m the oldest suitor here, and even then, I’m only fifteen. Helen is only thirteen. Come on, bro, were not gonna star a war.”

“Baseball glove boy has a point,” said emo trash, “I really don’t know what you’re expecting us to do?”

Despite everything, I found myself standing up to join them. I was just about to open my mouth when my Tamagotchi went off. Everyone turned to stare at me. I sat back down.

“See?” Said Ajax, pointing at me, “You really think that Tamagotchi pipsqueak is gonna start a stock war?”

I tried to look offended, but let’s be real, where was the lie?

Odysseus opened his mouth and then closed it again. He repeated this action a couple of times before sighing and saying “Well, what do you suggest?”

Ajax shrugged, “It would be more realistic to make us swear never to play against each other in a sports team or something. I don’t know, I’m a football player, not a politician.”

Odysseus looked thoughtful for a second before clicking his fingers a few times. An attendee showed up at his side, with a clipboard. “Get that drafted up buy tomorrow, Stevie, thank you,” he murmured, “None of these boys will be able to play against each other on a sports team without an extensive law suit.” The attendee looked confused for a moment but shrugged it off, and went on his way.

 

The next morning we were all pulled into the great hall again to hear Helen’s choice and to sign the forms. The paperwork took most of the morning and I was the only one who had no trouble with it seeing as I wasn’t really planning on ever joining a sports team.

Finally we were ready to hear the results. I was a bit confused at first, because Helen was thirteen. (That’s definitely not legal, getting married at thirteen) until someone explained that this was just a betrothal, not an actual marriage. The whole room hushed as Helen took to the front of the room.

“I have made my choice,” she said, her voice as clear as glass and as smooth as honey, “and it is Menelaus.”

There was frustration and discord around the room but no one said anything, the ink had long since dried on the legal forms. Menalaus grinned and clapped his brother on the shoulder. He looked relieved but not surprised. I guessed that there was probably a history between them.

“So be it,” said Tyndareus, You shall have my Helen. Not until she’s legal, mind!” he smiled sharply, showing that his words were both a joke and deadly serious.

We all grinned and the party began. My dad and I stayed for a while, but we were still some of the first to leave. My dad was clearly unhappy with the results. To be honest I don’t know what he expected.

It’s kind of a miracle that he let me keep my Tamagotchi.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you mean it's been several months since the last update, heh... Deadlines, yay!

I stood in a field outside the main house. In my hands was the Tamagotchi. I had named it Kanye. I couldn’t remember the man who had given it to me. It was a really, really long time ago. Almost as long as it was since I last checked on it. It was still like new, barely a scratch.

I was panting from my walk from the main house. Since the embarrassment of the Tamagotchi incident, my dad had appointed me a personal trainer, to, quote-unquote, “toughen me up”. He was pretty dodgy, I thought, since as well as the regular boxing and fencing, he kept trying to get me to throw spears and shit.

I had managed to escape his tyranny for the morning by bribing him with ham.

I know, right?

It was the first time I had been alone in weeks, and I was enjoying some quality Kanye time. Then the boy appeared, that bastard. Clysonymus was the son of a business man who was often at the palace hanging around my dad. He was older than I was, bigger than I was (like that was hard) and painfully obnoxious.

Kanye let out an electronic beep. Clysonymus leered at me, and gestured to my hands.

“Is that a Tamagotchi?” he queried, holding his hand out.

“Yes…” I replied. All the sons of business men were used to me doing what they wanted. They knew my father wouldn’t really care. Not this time though! If Clysonymus tried to  
take Kanye, all hell would break loose. I clutched it defensively to my chest.

“Isn’t that a kid’s toy?” He asked, and I growled in response. He shrugged, unconcerned. “Okay. Did you name it?”

“Yes,” I murmured.

“What?” He said.

“Kanye” I mumbled.

“I’m sorry?” He tilted his head to hear me better.

“Kanye.” I said. My voice broke as I struggled to answer him at an audible volume.

“Like the singer?”

“Yes.”

“That’s so lame.”

I stepped forward, planted my hands on his gross ass chest, and shoved as hard as my noodle arms would let me. No one insulted Kanye. Our estate was filled with grass and flowers. It shouldn’t have hurt him at all.

Who am I kidding? Our estate is also famous for its expensive rockeries.

His head fell straight onto a boulder with a resounding thunk. I always knew he was stupid, but I didn’t think that he was that heavy headed.

Just as the reality of what I’d just done began to sink in Sid, my personal trainer, peeked out at me from around the corner of a tree.

“Ohhhhhh!” he hollered, tearing off a piece of ham.

I wanted to melt into Patroclus puddle (a Patropuddle, if you will) so much in my life before.

I had never seen another human being die before. We had an on sight working farm, so I had seen the death of animals aplenty, and I had watched the hunger games so knew what a person looked like dying, but I had never seen it in person before. I felt sick.

I ran as fast as my chicken legs would let me, and the echo of Sid screaming “You in trouble, boi!” followed me onwards.

A few hours later, my father and Sid found me curled up by the knotted branches of an olive tree, drowning in a pool of my own tears.

The Tamagotchi must have fallen out of my pocket at some point, because I couldn’t find it anywhere.

My father stared down at me angrily. He flicked his wrist with a look of disgust and Sid hauled me over his shoulder and back towards the house.  
The boy’s parents were waiting with a team of paramedics. It turned out I hadn’t killed Clysonymus, only put him in a coma. It wasn’t as much of a relief as it sounded. My father had two options. He could either send me far away, to an expensive boarding school, or send me temporarily to a foster home for wayward rich kids that just so conveniently happened to be in the next region.

He chose the second. He never did like spending money.

He made the practical choice. For my weight in gold (but still less than boarding school costed) my father agreed to send me to Phthia until my eighteenth birthday, at such a time when I would return to being the heir of my father’s failing business.

This was how I spent my fourteenth birthday.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Phthia was a tiny city, between the ridges of mount Othrys and the sea. Peleus was one of those people that are so nice that you want to hate, but just can’t. His wife, Thetis, was a child of foreign royalty, and had spent most of her life on a yacht. All that sea salt must have burnt her eyes because they were permanently squinty.

She didn’t particularly want to marry him, but he knocked her up and their son was the heir to a multimillion dollar company, and a multibillion dollar country somewhere south of France. She didn’t really have a choice.

There had been a messy divorce, so now Thetis was back to living on her yacht. She only ever came ashore to visit her son, Achilles, never for her ex husband Peleus.

It was clear that she hated him.

I was lead through the twisty corridors of Pelius’ foster home for wayward rick kids by some fancyass butler guy with a bowtie and everything. He didn’t tell me his name and I didn’t ask.

Everything was so pale, even the people. My dark skin looked out of place here.

I had nothing with me, my luggage had been sent ahead to my room and my dad had set up a direct debit with Peleus to pay the fees. He’d also sent me with a goodwill present, but that had been sent ahead. It was a bass guitar that as way too cool for me and had once belonged to my mother before we realised she was allergic to it.

That bass guitar as so cool, it felt like it would burst into flames if I even touched it. Even the flames would be cooler than me.

I thought we were going to Peleus’ office, but the butler guy stopped halfway down a corridor at a side entrance and told me that Peleus was away on a business meeting. I was to talk to his son instead.

This freaked me out. I wasn’t prepared to talk to Perfect Achilles, my father’s idea of what a perfect son should be. I still remembered the way his hair had flowed behind him at the face, skin softened by the summer breeze.

He was lying on his back on his back on a sofa, plucking at a guitar. He didn’t look up as I entered, or he chose to ignore me. Before now, staff and visitors all payed attention to  
me. I was the heir to my father’s business. Here, I was just one of many. A nobody.

I took another step forward, scuffing my feet. He tilted his head to look at me and my breath caught in my throat. His eyes were the colour of the Mediterranean Sea, and his hair was spun gold. In those five years since I’d seen him last he’d grown impossibly hotter.

He turned to me with his gorgeous skin and long eyelashes and said “So,” (my heart skipped a beat,) “What’s your name?”

“Marry me,” I choked out.

He blinked. “Sorry?”

“Uh, Patroclus, my name’s Patroclus.”

The butler stifled a giggle.

My name felt heavy on my tongue. Honour of the father, it meant. Oh, cruel irony. Achilles didn’t make a joke. Perhaps he was too stupid and didn’t get the reference?

He rolled onto his side to face me. A stray lock of golden hair fell into his face and he blew it away flawlessly.

“My name is Achilles” I fought the urge to say “I know”. How stalkerish would that sound?

We regarded each other. I put a stubborn look on my face. I didn’t want him to think I liked him. His chiselled jaw line moved as he yawned, then brushed a dismissive hand towards me. “Welcome to Phthia” he said.

Peleus had once been a runaway himself, and had a soft spot for hopeless cases. That was, I guessed, why he had this “temporary foster home”.

We were in bunk beds in a long, awkwardly shaped room that carried the gross scent of teenage boy. The butler pointed to my stuff, where it had been haphazardly shoved onto my bunk. He was still stifling laughter.

A few boys looked at me as I came in. I’m pretty sure I saw emo trash there, but I ducked my head before I was certain. I had already spent far too much of my life as Tamagotchi pipsqueak.

I waited awkwardly alone for dinner.

We were summoned to eat at dusk by a loud school-style buzzer that nearly gave me a heart attack. The other boys all swarmed out of the room, dropping what they had been doing in their haste.

The house was built like some sort of ancient Greek maze, and in trying not to get left behind I tripped over the heel of the boy in front of me. I saw a crack in the fourth wall as I fell.

The dining room was even longer than the dorm, with a surprisingly beautiful view of some mountain or other. It looked steep so I wished that I would never, absolutely ever, have to clime it.

We sat at old, banged up tables. There was a load of food, but none of it was fancy. Salads and cheeses, bread and fruit, fishes a plenty. In short, everything my mother was allergic to.

Across the room I caught the flash of golden blonde waves in the lamplight. Achilles.

My breath caught in my throat. He was surrounded by happy, laughing boys who all looked like they made their parents proud by fighting bears or something.

After dinner we could do what we wanted. A group of boys were huddled around a side table. The eldest came up to me and held out him palm. “Do you want to play with us?” I looked down at his hand. He was younger than me and in his grip he held a Tamagotchi.

I fainted on the spot.

That night I dreamed the boy in the coma, sleeping quietly. There was a small, oval bump on his chest, beeping. The noise got louder and louder until finally Kanye was screaming.

I woke in terror, hoping I hadn’t screamed. The last thing I needed was people making fun of me for having nightmares. I stared out of the window. The stars were the only source of light in the room. 

The other boys didn’t comfort me. They were all asleep and our dead come for their vengeance regardless of witnesses. Not that he was actually dead, but you know, point still stands.

I tried to sleep, but the nightmares just kept on coming back.

The next morning I awoke sandy eyed and sore throated. I dressed myself groggily and followed the others to breakfast. One of the boys asked me if I wanted a drink.

“Heh, got milk?” I said. He didn’t find it funny, but poured me a glass anyway.

After breakfast we were lead out of the garden towards Peleus’ large football pitch. We were supplied with helmets and gear, and taught how to play. That was when I realised Peleus’ ulterior motive; one day we would be good enough to join the American Football team that he himself owned, maybe even the national team.

I was given a football and told to practice throwing it to my partner. I threw it, and missed by several feet. The coach sighed and handed me another ball. My eyes scanned over the masses of boys but I couldn’t see Achilles which was a shame. He probably looked hot in a football uniform.

Once again I aimed and threw the ball to my partner. The sun rose higher and higher as the day went on. Finally, when my loose shirt stuck to my body with sweat, the coach let us go. Most of the other boys ran towards the beach. There they raced and swam, making jokes with their weird ass accents.

Exhausted from the morning’s exercise, I sat under an olive tree with my aching arms. No one spoke to me – I was easy to ignore. It was that different from home, really.

The coming days were all the same. Waking up from nightmares of a lost Kanye, followed by sucking at any and every kind of sport, really. Still it was nice to have genuine milk for a change. After a while, milk free milk gets old.


End file.
